


Bury Me

by PazithiGallifreya



Series: Lady Cadash [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Deep Roads, Dwarves, F/M, Gen, Orzammar Culture and Customs, Surface Dwarf Culture and Customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PazithiGallifreya/pseuds/PazithiGallifreya
Summary: The Inquisition agreed to aid Orzammar when their lyrium mines were threatened by unnatural earthquakes. That doesn't mean Cadash was looking forward to a jaunt through the Deep Roads. She had no interest in exploring her dwarven "roots" when it came down to it, anyway. She's never fit in among surface dwarves, after all, and she feels no more at home surrounded by "real" dwarves who see her only as something inferior.(Takes place during "The Descent" DLC timeline. Dwarfy shit.)





	Bury Me

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue is taken directly from the game and some has been significantly changed or expanded. Cadash has a lot of Issues with 'dwarfyness'.... suffice to say, she and Sera may have a few things to bond over in a later tale (stay tuned, as the saying goes).
> 
> These are the events that result in Cadash's letter to King Bhelen that I posted earlier, along with a few other things I felt like touching on.

Thom Rainier slouched as he slipped out of the massive doors of the hall of Skyhold, and loped down the steps and across the yard. It had been over two months now since his past was revealed to the world, but he could still feel eyes boring into his back wherever he went. They wouldn't dare touch him, not here, anyway. The Inquisitor had made it clear that she would deal swiftly with anyone who tried to harm him. That didn't mean they wouldn't _think_ about it.

There were some who still shouted at him from a safe distance, though the calls of _traitor!_ and _murderer!_ had tapered off after the first few weeks. The occasional stone or vegetable or horse turd still came his way, but it bounced off or washed off, and a few bruises were the least of what he knew he deserved. He never responded in any case, which probably took the satisfaction out of it for most of them. There were some who seemed willing to let it go, or at least decide it was none of their business, and were once again friendly toward him. Still, he was under no illusions that he'd not be paying for his many sins for the rest of his life. _At least I've_ got _the rest of my life to pay for them_ , he thought, although part of him had yet to make peace with that. He'd expected to die. Part of him still wanted to, and the rest of him had to shove it away in a dark corner whenever that impulse reared its head. The woman he loved had paid too dearly for his life for him to simply throw it away, now. That's what he told himself.

Thom Rainier had fallen in love with the Herald of Andraste long before she'd had him dragged out of an Orlesian prison. He wasn't quite sure how it had happened. She was... peculiar. In every way he could imagine. When had it happened? He wasn't sure of that, either. She hardly fit the type he was accustomed to spending his affections on – farmers' daughters going through their rebellious phase, soldiers' sisters impressed by a well-dressed Captain, long-legged ladies of negotiable affection and smokey eyes, bored elven servants looking for an evening's distraction... a whole parade of women had come and gone through his life, but they had all been brief visitors that had never meant to stay, and he'd been satisfied enough with that for most of his life. He never meant to get so... attached. To anyone. He could only hurt them, in the end. And he had hurt her, deeply.

But Cadash bore no resemblance to those women who had entered and exited his orbit so swiftly. She was a dwarf, to begin with. One who had fallen out of the Fade, declared the Herald of Andraste, even if she never quite believed it herself. It might have been the Divine, not Andraste herself, who had spared her life, but he couldn't quite get the image out of his head. He certainly hadn't intended to fall in love with her. Indeed, he'd tried his damnedest not to, had practically begged her to send him away again and again, but she had refused every time and pulled him ever closer instead. It all felt entirely too complicated, but how could he refuse her, when her wants and needs were really so simple? She wanted him by her side, whatever her reasons, so in the end, he had stayed.

He'd mostly found her a curiosity at first, just as she had seemed to find him an amusing distraction. And, if he were honest with himself, something like a figure out of a storybook, and that had been quite appealing to the mask of Blackwall – a righteous path to serve, a cause to dedicate himself to.

That's all it ever should have been, but she had sought him out of her own will, to sit on a crate by the forge in Haven for hours and listen to him prattle on about this or that, or just sit and soak in his silent presence. What she got out of any of it, he was never quite sure. She found his presence calming, perhaps; often she'd be visibly upset when she arrived, usually after she had spent harried hours at the war table as the others shouted about the direction of the Inquisition. That's all he could figure. She cringed when people shouted, and he never shouted at her, for one.

He'd given in to temptation and flirted a bit out of the old habits of Thom Rainier (Blackwall would never have been so gauche, he was sure), never thinking for a moment that she'd have the slightest interest in some unwashed Grey Warden from the back woods of Ferelden (as he'd presented himself at the time). But his words had left her flustered, and if he were not completely misreading her, maybe a bit confused. He'd found it charming, at the time, not knowing quite why a few simple compliments affected her so (he knew why, and knew better, now).

Then Corypheus attacked, and the diminutive Herald had walked out to meet him on her own, a solitary dwarf armed with nothing but two daggers, a glowing hand, and a bellyful of righteous anger, fully expecting to die, just so the rest of them could escape out of the back door. Cullen had needed to physically drag him away through the Chantry. Maybe that was when it happened.

He owed her his life twice, now. He loved her regardless – it wasn't just a sense of indebtedness, although he knew that sometimes she felt that perhaps it must be. She'd accused him in the Hissing Wastes of staying with her as some form of self-punishment and a sense of guilt. He wished he could take those doubts away, but his reassurances never seemed to hold up for long, so he'd just have to keep repeating himself. He was no stranger to feeling worthless, but she had no reason, not like he did. She was worth more than he'd ever been. She certainly deserved more than anything he could offer her, but while he still drew breath, he'd do his best for her, until such time that she told him to leave.

Thom pushed open the door of the Herald's Rest quietly and glanced about. It was still early enough in the evening that there were few people around. He might have an hour or so before it got too crowded for him to stay. He obtained a mug of something from Cabot and spied Varric Tethras at a table in the corner.

At least there was one friendly face around. Varric, if anything, seemed to like him more now than when he was hiding behind Blackwall. Said he was “less boring” now. Thom chuckled to himself as he plopped down in a chair across from where the author was bent over a piece of parchment, scratching away with a quill in one hand while he held his ale in the other. He had to have heard Thom's arrival, but did not look up.

“Which word do you think sounds better – colossal, or enormous?”

“Er.... a colossal enormous _what_?”

“Trying to describe that dragon we fought last week.”

“Er.. colossal, then. Maybe?”

Varric picked up the parchment, squinted at it for a moment, then plunked it back down, filling in the word. “Good enough for now, my editor can iron out the kinks later.” He rolled up the parchment and put it away in a satchel along with his inks and quills. “So why aren't you off somewhere snuggled up with your lady love? I thought the two of you had patched things up?”

“Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine have her holed up over that bloody war table. I think Cassandra might be in there as well. Not exactly sure what they're discussing, but she told me not to wait up. I'll find her later this evening. If they haven't set her free by supper time, I'll kick the door down.”

Varric laughed and leaned back, downing the last of his ale, then waving the empty mug in the direction of one of the girls, who snatched it from his outstretched hand without slowing down. “I really need to get the two of you together sometime for a real interview. Gotta get the details, you know. This is all going into my next book, if we survive.” The server dashed past and slid the mug in front of him, the froth dripping over the rim just slightly as it sloshed. “A former Carta smuggler and a former soldier with a dark past, that's quite the romance! I can see it already. Cassandra will probably order a copy before I even finish it.”

Thom choked on his own ale, feeling his face redden slightly. “Nobody wants to read that, I assure you. Just write about her facing off with Corypheus, that's drama enough. Nobody wants to read about me, that's for damned sure.”

Varric laughed loudly, slapping the table. “Are you kidding, Hero? Everyone wants to read about you. Trust me – it'll fly off the shelves. People love a scandal! And star-crossed lovers overcoming adversity? And this one even has a happy ending... well, if we don't all get blown up before this is all over, anyway. I'll cut you in on the returns, c'mon!”

Thom shook his head and sipped at his ale more slowly this time, his throat still burning. “I don't think the story would suffer much if you just left me out to be quite honest.”

Varric peered at him across the table, his eyes narrowing as though he could read something written on the inside of Thom's head. “Oh, I think you're a very important part of this story, whether you like it or not. You know she adores you, right? Positively besotted. She was, er, rather upset on the trip back from Orlais. It was never a question that she'd have you taken out of Val Royeaux.”

Thom scratched at his beard and sighed. “I know it. I don't know why, but I do know it.”

“Ah, don't sell yourself short, Hero. There are plenty of dwarves wouldn't give her the time of day, Herald or not, never mind a human. I was actually quite surprised when you started paying so much attention to her.”

“Bullshit, she's as fine a woman as any I've ever met. More than most.” Thom dropped his mug back onto the table a bit harder than necessary. Varric smiled at him, saying nothing for several moments. Thom cleared his throat loudly just to fill the awkward silence, then lost his patience. “What?”

“Nothing... nothing.... I'm glad you feel that way. She deserves a little appreciation.”

“Glad we're in agreement, then.” Thom finished his ale and left the empty mug at the corner of the table for a refill, and drummed his fingers on the wood, unsure what else to say. But then, he never could let go of a mystery. “What did you mean, exactly, that there are plenty of dwarves who wouldn't like her? Some cultural thing against green eyes or something?”

Varric shrugged slightly. “No... not exactly. She's just... not everyone's type, I guess. Not on the surface, anyway, and Orzammar well... the less said about Orzammar, the better, generally. They're so wrapped up in their obsession over purity and caste that they'd never look twice at a surfacer, whatever they looked like. Not that they ever meet any, generally speaking. Not while knowing who they're talking to. Technically, we're not even allowed to enter the city, although there are unofficial ways.”

“So they don't like surfacers down there. What about up here, then? Because she stopped shaving the beard off? Gone out of fashion, sort of thing? I mean she's not the first dwarf woman I've seen that was a bit... er... scruffy. Although most seem to prefer to get rid of, as far as I can tell. I've never seen Dagna or Harding--”

Varric laughed, cutting him off. “Dagna and Harding couldn't grow a beard if their lives depended on it. Not all dwarf women can. It tends to run in certain bloodlines, the Shaperate keeps records like that I'm told. Geneaologies and whatnot. Bartrand mentioned something about it years ago, about it being more the rule than the exception in a lot of Warrior caste families, and I think there are a few Smith caste clans that are known for it. Supposedly they're in high demand as wives for warriors looking to have strong children they can train for the Provings, although I'm not sure there's really any connection between the two traits. But on the surface, it's not as common, marriages are a little more liberal outside of the more traditional families. And yea, those that have them do tend to get rid of them, especially if they live in human cities. Draws too much attention, probably.”

“...huh. So... she'd have suitors lining up down in Orzammar, but up here they won't give her the time of day? That's... kind of stupid, actually.”

“Nearly everything to do with Orzammar is kind of stupid, but dwarves aren't always much better up here, no. We can be rather stubborn in our ways. Honestly I'm just surprised it doesn't bother _you_. Most humans would find it weird, I'd think. Unless you just have a thing for hair?”

Thom choked slightly at the insinuation. “Er, no.. it's.... not a particular interest. I'll be honest, it _was_ a bit weird at first, but I've got used to it. It doesn't matter, really. I don't care. I just wish she didn't feel like she had to be self conscious about it. After everything she's done for this world, it shouldn't matter. It was such a bother for her before, anyway. Her skin doesn't hold up to abuse and elfroot tincture only fixes so much. ”

Varric's gaze darted off to the side and he drank more of his ale. “Yea, well. I'm glad it hasn't ruined things for you, the two of you do seem happy together. I'm glad at least a couple of us here get to be happy in this mess...”

“Don't suppose there's something in particular dwarves use, a special soap or something? I mean is that why most of you have beards, it's too irritating to get rid of them? You don't seem to shave everyday yourself although I've never seen you in quite the state she used to end up in.”

Varric hesitated before answering. “No, nothing special. I just don't always remember, or have the time. I, er, think it's just Cadash in particular.”

“Because she's female?”

“Er, not exactly. I think it's just... her. She's a bit thin-skinned for a dwarf, is all. Not surprising considering...” Varric downed the rest of his second mug of ale and reached for his satchel. “Listen, I gotta run. Don't worry about Cadash, she's tough enough when you get down to it, skin aside. Just remind her that you're on her side and the rest won't matter.”

“Not surprising considering what?”

Varric waved off his question, beating a retreat toward the Herald's door. “Gotta meet up with someone from the Merchant's Guild before supper, we can talk later.”

Thom finished the rest of his ale and went to Cabot to pay for it, and realized that Varric had left him to pay both their tabs. “Maker's balls...”

 

* * *

 

The Deep Roads. They wanted her to go to the _Deep Roads_.

Cadash had been to Orzammar, plenty. Her cousin had her face branded as a casteless dwarf when she was twelve, only weeks after she'd come to his doorstep, her mother's sudden death leaving her with nowhere else to turn. It wasn't nearly as difficult to smuggle surfacers in and out of Orzammar as most of the “proper” dwarves thought. After all, a brand was a brand was a brand, as far as most of them were concerned.

They didn't even see your face, only the mark across your cheek announcing to all of Orzammar that you were stone-rejected nothingness, barely worthy of being considered a dwarf at all. There were passages in and out of dust town, cut through the mountain and out into the sky beyond, where anyone who knew where the hidden paths led could enter.

In all likelihood, the King of Orzammar knew all about it, and didn't care. Bhelen was married to a casteless woman, and he'd loosened _some_ of the restrictions on their movement, but that didn't mean life was suddenly easy for them. There was coin to be made outside of the official lyrium trade with the Chantry, and dwarves didn't really give a nug's ass who bought the stuff once it reached the surface as long as the price was good. Other parts of Orzammar's society were more precious about it, the smith and merchant castes especially, getting sniffy about who bought the arms and armor they produced and traded, but the mining caste on the whole was less bothered.

Cadash wasn't stupid – they wanted the Inquisition's resources and knowledge and deep pockets to sort out a problem they couldn't comprehend, much less solve. Earthquakes, and not natural ones, from what the messages reported, threatened their precious mines. Cadash knew a bit about stone but nothing about The Stone, other than that it hated her on principal because she'd breathed the open air under the sky. She'd known people in the Carta who'd still taken it all seriously, but it was all nug shit as far as she was concerned, just another excuse for others to treat her like filth. And now that the filth had power and influence, they'd invited it onto their doorstep for aid. Hypocrites!

Dagna told her once that lyrium was a living substance, the red variety blighted and whispering.... King Bhelen of Orzammar had sent a personal plea for aid. Their lyrium mines were in danger, and so was the Inquisition's ability to function, if its demands for the substance could not be met. He'd requested the aid of the Inquisitor, in particular. The request had been for her title, but her actual name – Cadash – was not mentioned even once in the entreaty. She hadn't missed that little detail. Bhelen might be more progressive than some of his noble caste brethren, but the Deshyrs as a group were still highly conservative and suspicious of anything outside their little stone-walled universe.

After hours of arguing strategy and options, it became clearer and clearer that she wouldn't be able to weasel out of this particular campaign. For diplomatic reasons, Josephine said, they needed to maintain good relations with Orzammar. The mages and former templars in their ranks needed a reliable supply, Cullen reminded her. The tremors started with the breach, and the anchor might be the only way to fix it, Leliana had told her.

_Ugh._

“Fine, but I won't go alone.”

 

* * *

 

“It might not be too bad? The Legion aren't quite as stuffy as the diamond quarter lot, from what I've been told. Not that I've met any personally. Half of them were casteless anyway.”

Cadash trudged on, putting one foot in front of the other through sheer force of will as they made their way through the Storm Coast to the fissure over the Deep Roads. She didn't want to do this. She knew why it was necessary, of course – first and foremost, the Inquisition _did_ need a great deal of lyrium, and even if they pissed off Orzammar's finest, the Carta's supplies came from the same mines as the legitimately traded stuff. “And the one thing the casteless of Orzammar know, is that they're still better than us cloud-gazers. I've been to dust town, they know the difference. Don't bet on a warm welcome.”

Varric huffed beside her, unable to think of anything to refute her statement. She'd been in dust town enough to hear them talk. _At least we're not cloud gazers. At least we're still dwarves._

“Fuck Orzammar,” she grumbled under her breath.

Varric laughed. “Been saying that for years. Did I mention that I hate the Deep Roads?”

 _Only about a thousand times_ , she thought, not that she thought she would like them any better.

Thom trudged along at her other side, and Dorian trailed somewhat morosely after them. He and Thom had not exactly become friends, but the sniping had died away and they'd at least managed something akin to mutual respect in recent weeks. She just hoped it would hold up until they got back to the surface. She'd have enough problems without having her own people bickering around her.

Finally, Cadash spied Lace Harding standing near a wooden contraption with a couple of dwarves she thought she might have seen in Skyhold earlier making final adjustments.

“Inquisitor!” Harding smiled and waved at her cheerfully. “The lift to the Deep Roads is nearly finished. No darkspawn yet!” She laughed, nervously, glancing around as though expecting a hurlock to burst out of a bush at any moment.

Cadash paused and looked around. “I was told to meet a Shaper Valta...?”

“She's waiting below, you won't see--”

Cadash huffed loudly and interrupted Harding in her impatience. “Yea, I remember, they won't come up here. Shit, at this point there's probably more of us than them, you'd think they'd... well, let's just get this over with.”

Cadash felt a twinge of guilt at her inexcusable rudeness to Harding, who was, as always, professional and friendly, but her sour mood left her feeling unusually obstreperous. She shot an apologetic look over her shoulder at the scout as she gingerly stepped onto the wooden platform. She just hoped it was sturdier than it looked. Varric, Thom and Dorian followed her and the contraption started to shift as gears were pushed into place.

The platform began to sink into the darkness below and Harding's voice echoed after them. “Don't stand too close to the edge! And good luck!”

 

* * *

 

“Always wondered if I'd die down here.”

Cadash glanced up at Thom, surprised that his mood seemed no better than hers. The chain creaked ominously as they descended slowly into a crevasse that Cadash could not see the bottom of. “You're not dead yet.”

“The day's just starting.”

He was just blowing off steam, she knew, but his gallows humor did nothing for her mounting anxiety. Darkspawn were a given. Whatever was causing the earthquakes, though... whatever it was, it was powerful.

Varric, of course, had his own brand of humor. “Did I ever tell you the story about the handsome dwarf and his friend who was crowned King of the Nugs?”

 

* * *

 

They found the Shaper crouching over the bodies of the dead, recording their names on a scroll. Valta stood as she heard them approach and moved toward them on an indirect path. Cadash found herself immediately irritated with the woman as she crouched and crawled to avoid even reflected sunlight. Cadash suddenly wanted to slap her, to drag her into the light and force her to face the world as it really was. _You can't fucking fall into the sky_ , she wanted to shout. She did none of it. Instead, she schooled her features into a bland pleasantness and made the necessary introductions and niceties, as something that sounded suspiciously like Josephine's voice in the back of her head reminded her that this was as much a diplomatic mission as an investigative one.

They'd barely finished those introductions, though, before they were fighting off a massive ogre, and making a run for where the Legion of the Dead were holding off a horde of darkspawn pouring out of a hole in a wall. Once the skirmish was over and the breach in the wall sealed with the deft use of high explosives, they were able to stop and rest. Not half an hour had passed, though, before Cadash heard the first grumbling from one of the Legion solders. _So the king got a surfacer involved_. Cadash continued her work setting up the base camp and pointedly ignored the chatter and looks she was getting.

The stone suddenly trembled all around them. Cadash's head swam and she fell to her knees, her vision blurring as some sort of pressure built against her head as the shaking went on, a not-quite-audible pulsing, almost like the pounding of a massive drum or a heartbeat. She felt a sharp pain in her hand where the anchor lay as her vision blacked out and she tipped over.

Then Thom was leaning over her, one hand gripping her shoulder while the other cradled her head, a thumb rubbing over her cheek. Varric and Dorian's faces hovered nearby as well. “Thank the Maker, she's waking up.”

“What's wrong with her? Does she pass out often?” There was a hint of something in Valta's tone that Cadash immediately disliked. Cadash pulled herself to her feet with Thom's help. “No, I do not 'pass out often'... I'm not sure what happened. Maybe I hit my head during the darkspawn fight.”

Valta looked at her for half a moment, then shrugged and turned to her Legion companion, an exceptionally broad-shouldered dwarf she'd called out to as Renn during the fight earlier, “You heard that, right?”

“I hear it. Doesn't prove a thing.”

Cadash looked between them, catching the continuation of some earlier argument. “What are you talking about hearing? The earthquake?”

“A rhythm, in the tremor. These quakes are not a natural disaster, they're deliberate. There's an intelligence behind them.”

Renn turned to Cadash, giving her half a smile. “We get plenty of natural tremors down here, these are different. Valta thinks she knows why.”

 

* * *

 

Candles and lanterns had been snuffed out to let the Legion and the Inquisition rest. Cadash couldn't quite call it “night” although it was probably dark already on the Storm Coast above them. The cavern they were camped in was dark in a way their camps on the surface rarely were. Off in one corner, Cadash's keen dwarven vision could just make out the faint phosphorescence of a small cluster of deep mushrooms.

Titans. That's what Valta thought they were looking for. Renn clearly was skeptical. Cadash had no idea what to think. She'd heard the term before, but only as a bedtime story for children.

The Legion had all been staring at her, when they thought she wasn't looking. They paid less attention to Varric, perhaps because he better fit the stereotype of the irreverent not-really-a-dwarf surfacer. She told herself it was just because she was the Inquisitor, but she knew better. They needed her. Orzammar needed her. _King Bhelen_ needed her. But that didn't make her one of them.

“ _You_ were born on the surface, you don't have _our_ connection to the Stone,” Valta had stated blandly. You're not _really_ a dwarf. On the surface, she'd only ever been “just a dwarf” and not even a particularly good or useful one. Down here, she was not even that much. Down here, she was The Inquisition – a means to an end. They didn't even try to hide their opinion of her. At least, Valta certainly did not. It was just a fact – rocks are hard, nugs shit everywhere, you aren't a real dwarf. Like Cadash shouldn't even feel anything about it. Or like she shouldn't be able to feel at all.

Cadash rolled over on her pallet again and tried to sleep. Thom lay on another pallet not half a foot a way and she wanted to crawl into his arms, but the crowd around them gave her pause. Why did she even care what they thought? She wasn't a dwarf to them, anyway. So what if her lover was human?

She shifted a bit more and started to drift off... then jolted awake as an echo of the pressure she'd felt during the tremor hit her again. Was she imagining things? It was probably nerves; she hadn't wanted to come down here, and she wanted nothing more than to leave immediately.

 

* * *

 

The Legion began to rouse, although Cadash had no idea how much time had actually passed. She was more exhausted than when she had laid down, having been jolted awake again and again whenever she was close to drifting off. There was something down here, although she had no idea what. She'd never been this deep before. She had never felt it in dust town, anyway. Was it this Titan that Valta believed was down here? The anchor ached as well and she rubbed at it as the lanterns were re-lit.

Cadash pulled her gear together and stumbled to her feet. Thom looked at her, tilting his head slightly in an unspoken question. She shook her head, unwilling to discuss anything yet. He was worried about her already, and they hadn't even started.

 

* * *

 

The Deep Roads turned out to be as cloying and oppressive as she'd anticipated. The stench of darkspawn pervaded every room and corridor and they couldn't make it around one turn without being beset by giant spiders or deepstalkers. The temperature was slightly cool and clammy, but Cadash found herself sweating like an overworked horse.

They kept running across strange gears, and Valta insisted they pocket them. Several clanked in her own pack, the weight of them pulling at her neck and shoulders. They weren't small gears. Eventually they found doors with mechanisms that they fit into, and it annoyed Cadash that the Shaper had been right.

And, of course, behind the first door was darkspawn. What else should she have expected?

 

* * *

 

They finally found another place to rest after what seemed like an endless horde of darkspawn, spiders and deepstalkers. The only thing they'd encountered that hadn't tried to kill them so far were the nugs. Cadash left them alone out of some sense of gratitude for being, thus far, the friendliest things she'd encountered in the Deep Roads, and that included Valta and the Legion warriors. Something about their gentle squeaking and confused running about was almost comforting. At least it was a familiar sound. She'd told off one of the Legion when one had thrown a knife at a passing nug and he'd given her a look like she had three heads. She didn't care.

They still talked lowly, referring to her without using her name, but it wasn't difficult to know what they were discussing. _Too damned bad she's surfacer rubbish, got the look of solid Warrior caste stock but there's just no way_. She turned her back on the lot of them, scratching at her beard as she peered down into the abyss below. It would be too easy to just slip over the edge. She could hear Valta chatting with Varric, who seemed immune to her pretentiousness, and she wandered over for lack of anything better to do. Dorian and Thom were both laid out on bedrolls, taking a nap where the opportunity presented. She felt like doing the same but was afraid of having the same reaction she'd had the night before, where others could now clearly witness it. It had been bad enough when they'd all been asleep around her.

“Oh, there you are. I was just asking your companion if the Inquisition would have an interest in investigating this thaig. It's quite old and I don't think I've seen it mentioned on any recent expedition reports. The Legion hasn't come this way in generations. But if you could get a bridge built..?”

Cadash hesitated for a moment, not wanting to agree with this woman on anything. Remember why you are there, Josephine had pressed before she left. “Fine, we can send a runner back to the lift. One of our scouts can send the message back to Skyhold, I'm sure our people can arrange the labor necessary. Of course anything we find, you can look over and decide what Orzammar will want to keep.”

“You know I finally remembered where I heard your name before. Cadash? That name is in the Memories in a few places, although not any recent ones of course, since the house was exiled many generations ago.”

“Oh. How.. fascinating.” Cadash wasn't sure she really wanted to hear about this. She'd always been curious, and had never had anyone to ask. Her mother hadn't known and she wouldn't have ever asked her cousin. She wasn't sure now that she wanted to ask Valta.

But apparently asking wasn't necessary. “Yes, apparently members of your house tried to obtain information about a war golem during the first blight. Their methods were considered.... offensive. Cadash was a feared name long before they were Carta.”

“Oh. Is that all?” She knew she was being rude, again. But she was exhausted from lack of sleep, sore from hours of fighting and irritated by the Legion's attitudes as well as Valta herself. She hated how she felt. She hated how she was acting, but she couldn't seem to stop.

Valta pressed on, apparently not noticing Cadash's mood anyway. “I wish I could tell you more, but family histories were never my area of expertise. But if you wrote to the Shaperate later, they might be willing to tell you more.”

“Uh, thank you for the information. I might consider doing that.” _If we survive this_ , she added in her own head. _And if I can ever stomach the thought of asking Orzammar for a personal favor_.

Cadash wandered back over to the edge of the camp they'd made and sat down, her legs swinging over the endless darkness below.

“Hey.”

Cadash looked up. Valta's companion, Lieutenant Renn, stood nearby. He glanced at her, then crouched next to her, peering downward where she'd been staring before. “That first step's a doozy, huh?”

Cadash scratched at her chin, feeling somehow even more self conscious of the beard surrounded by Orzammar dwarves than she did up on the surface, like somehow it made her even more of an outcast to possess something they associated with themselves. Part of her wished she could somehow just convince them all she was an elf, or something. That might at least shut them up a bit.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor? You seem a bit unwell.” He down sat properly, dropping his own heavily armored feet over the ledge next to hers.

“I guess the Deep Roads don't agree with me. Cloud gazer and all that. I could use some fresh air, but I don't think that concept exists down here.”

Renn chuckled beside her and dropped a friendly pat on her shoulder. “It's got its charms, I think, but, no, it's not the friendliest place. The darkspawn stink up everything. That's why we have to keep killing them. Well, one of the reasons.”

“Sure you want to be seen over here with a dirty surfacer? It might be catching, after all.” She meant to be lighthearted in her joke, but it came out sounding as bitter as she felt anyway.

“I'm already dead, remember? What else can happen to me? Don't pay any mind to the chatter. I think half of them are more envious than anything. 'That nug was too skinny anyway.' Hm, do they tell that story to kids on the surface?”

“Yea, they do. Skinny nugs. Sour grapes is what the humans call it. There's probably a few other versions, I never asked a Dalish elf for theirs and who knows what Qunari Tamassrans tell the children. My mother used to tell me stories about titans, too. Not sure I want them to be real, though.”

“Yea, me neither. How the hell would you get one to stop making earthquakes? Ask it nicely? Tickle its toes?” Renn laughed at his own joke, a rich sound that bounced around the cavern walls below. “But seriously, don't let them get to you. The Legionnaires talk a lot of shit anyway. There's not much else to do in between fights with the darkspawn but gossip and hash over old arguments and occasionally start a fist fight just for the entertainment. I love them, but we're definitely a rowdy bunch. Just comes with the job, I guess.”

Cadash shrugged. “No worse than the Carta, but I don't exactly miss them. Valta doesn't seem to care much for me either, though. But I guess she wouldn't. I'm not a _proper_ dwarf after all.”

“I think she likes you just fine, she's just... got opinions. I mean, we all do. I know what's said about surfacers, and I don't know if it's true or not. I may be 'dead' but I'm not _dead_ , and I don't know any better than you do where we all end up. Figured you'd think it was all nug droppings anyway, they call you the Herald of Andraste after all. That's the humans' religion, isn't it?”

“Yea, but I don't know if that's true either. I don't know anything, really. I just... sort of ended up here by accident.” She'd been in the Fade, but wasn't sure she wanted to talk to Renn about that. What would he say if she'd told him she'd actually had a dream, once? Even if it was mostly Solas's doing through the mark, still...

“Well, you know exactly as much as the rest of us. We're all just guessing in the end, I think. When King Bhelen's messengers came through during all this earthquake business, they did mention a bit about what's going on topside. That breach thing and all the demons? You're doing good work from what I hear. I know a lot of dwarves down here probably don't care but don't waste your time thinking about it. Orzammar does as Orzammar does, and always will.”

Cadash smiled despite herself. “You sound like Varric now.”

“Well, he must not be too stupid, then. I'll take that as a compliment. You have good friends, they clearly care about you a lot. I think that... ah, what's his name? Blackwall, is that what the mage called im? He clearly cares about you a great deal, can't hardly take his eyes off of you. I take it the two of you are close?”

Cadash blushed, which just made her even more embarrassed. She had pulled away from him since entering the Deep Roads, as much as it pained her to do so (and seemed to hurt him, although he didn't complain), and had not felt that it should be so plain what their relationship was to outsiders. She couldn't think of a response to Renn that wouldn't just tip her entire hand.

“Ah. I see. Well, for what it's worth, I can see the appeal. He is kind of dwarfy, for a human. You could try piling a few rocks on his head, see if you can get him down a foot or so?”

Cadash tried not to laugh at the image and failed. “I tried not to be obvious about it, is it really that plain?”

“Well, to anyone paying attention. I don't think the others have noticed yet. They're too busy wishing they had a beard half as nice as yours and feeling disgruntled about it being 'wasted' on a surfacer. Don't let them keep you apart from him if you need him. I'll give the bunch of ingrates all a good pounding myself if they don't shut up soon. There's too much at stake down here, and you've come down here to help us after all.”

“Thanks, Renn.”

He shifted back and stood up, giving her a friendly slap on the shoulder before going back to the rest of the camp. Cadash still missed the sun and the stars and the fresh breeze above, but maybe she'd survive this trip. If she could get some sleep, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Whatever they had expected to find down here, it hadn't been this. Anything but this.

They were dwarves. They were very strange, but nonetheless, in blood, bone and sinew: _dwarves_. And they'd attacked mercilessly, cutting down several of the Legion, implacable in their fury and rage. They carried weapons like Cadash had never seen, including repeating crossbows that shot heavy bolts clearly designed to penetrate the thickest armor. Even Bianca couldn't compare.

Renn was dead. He'd fought on for long minutes after he'd been pierced through with one of the mysterious dwarves' bolts, but in the end, his life was spent. He was not just 'dead' now, but _dead_ , and wherever his spirit went beyond this life, Cadash hoped it was somewhere good. His funeral may have been held years ago, he may have accepted his end long before, but he had deserved better than this. He'd joined the Legion to pay a debt, to spare his family.

Cadash had hated Orzammar more in that moment than she ever had before. She had turned to Valta after the battle, her rage at the woman's entire civilization burning up inside her and aching for release, but whatever she'd meant to say had died on her lips. Her distaste for the Shaper had fizzled away in the sight of the woman's grief over her friend's death.

The rest of them moved about, setting up camp again in silence under the eerie blue glow of the lyrium veins in the rock walls around them. Something within the stone itself had changed. The pressure that Cadash had been feeling at the edge of sleep the entire trip was now pressing and pulsing against her head even in full wakefulness.

 _It's the lyrium_ , she thought. _I can_ feel _the lyrium. I'm not supposed to be able to feel it_!

She almost told Valta, but couldn't get the words out. Everything felt too awful to speak. They all bedded down for the next few hours, various members of the Legion taking it in turns to keep watch for more of the strange, hostile dwarves.

Cadash shoved her bedroll over against Thom's and curled up against his shoulder She didn't care anymore what they thought. The sound that was not sound at all crushed against her from all sides,. It kept her awake and her own pulse pounded into her temples. Thom wrapped an arm around her, but it wasn't enough.

Thom whispered to her as his arm tightened around her. “Are you alright? It's not too late, we can go back if you need to. Send someone else to deal with this crap.”

She shook her head but shifted over her lover until she was draped across his body. She pressed her ear against his solid chest and let his familiar heartbeat drown everything else out until, finally, she slept.

 

* * *

 

Sha-Brytol. Defenders of the “pure” - but pure what? Pure dwarves? What is the titan, anyway? _It sculpts the world within and without._ Who asked them to, anyway? And of course the bloody Shaperate of Orzammar erased all knowledge of them from the Memories. Can't have anyone thinking that anyone else but _them_ belong to The Stone. Cadash suddenly wanted to piss on everything down here and wondered if she'd been spending too much time with Sera. There were lyrium veins as thick as tree trunks as well, and she tried to ignore the incessant pulsing of them, the low thrum that never ceased. She wanted to smash all of it to bits. Pure nug shit, that's what.

And there _were_ an awful lot of nugs down here. She crouched down and tried to entice one with a bit of stale bread from her pack, wondering if she could get it close enough to give it a pat. Anything to distract herself from where she was, and what was happening.

Then they met the Nug King. Best damned thing that had happened the whole trip, as far as Cadash was concerned. She squeaked gratefully to the monarch and bowed while Valta waited nervously outside the cavern. The Shaper apparently thought nugs were “creepy.” Her loss. Cadash would never eat another nug again. Leliana would be thrilled.

They had to keep moving, though, and she'd waved goodbye to the herd of nugs, who squeaked amongst themselves as they departed. There were more carvings, which Valta pretended she understood the significance of.

There were more and more of the supposed 'revered defenders' to challenge their progress. _“Only the pure may pass, all others will be punished.”_ They managed to dispatch all of them, though not without casualties. Dorian was a competent healer, but he grew tired if they demanded too much of him. There was no lack of lyrium, but it was useless in its raw form – too volatile and dangerous without being processed and diluted, and they did not have the necessary tools. They patched themselves up as best they could, and left the most seriously injured Legionnaires at a makeshift camp for the time being.

 

* * *

 

The light was blinding, like sun at high noon, but there was no discernible source. Strange plant life grew over the balconies and stairwells cut into rock columns that looked anything but natural.

“The rhythm we followed... we've found the source.” Valta was thrilled, of course.

 _No shit,_ Cadash thought. Her head was pounding in time with it. She lifted a hand to her ear, almost expecting to feel it bleeding.

“But not the Titan,” Valta added.

Cadash laughed through her pain at the so obviously incorrect statement. “What the hell are you talking about? We've found the bloody Titan!”

Valta blinked at her, oblivious in her joy to Cadash's obvious pain, her grin spreading until she looked like a child in a store full of sweets. “Yes! We're standing _inside_ it!” The shaper's celebration was cut short when more Sha Brytol arrived. “If I don't survive, Orzammar must know the truth.”

Cadash moved despite the splitting headache and they all fought their way through the strange stairways and bridges. Nothing put a dent in Valta's joy, though. “Could there be a whole civilzation down here?” Cadash shook her head as she cut down another Revered Defender, seeking out the chinks in the lyrium-infused armor from behind while Thom roared and bashed at them from the front.

Dorian alternated between fire and ice while Varric took what advantage he could of their confusion and irritation at the magic that did little against their resistant armor and sent bolt after bolt from Bianca into the small gap in their helmets that let them see out. You couldn't fault his aim, that much was certain.

Nothing prepared them, though, for what lay at the center of the labyrinthine innards of the titan. A great lyrium heart pulsed, the obvious source of Cadash's suffering.

Valta read over another Memory carved into a rock wall. “It says they come here to drink the Titan's blood.... Lyrium. The Titan's blood is lyrium.”

And these “Defenders” drank it to sustain themselves. Pure _lyrium_. How could they survive this way? Even the Templars used only a very diluted form, and that alone drove them mad over time. Not that the Sha Brytol seemed all that rational, at the moment.

“I don't care what lyrium is right now, we have to stop this!” Cadash pushed forward, toward the massive beating heart ahead. A bolt of energy shot out from it, passing over her head and striking Valta square in the chest, leaving her sliding on her back across the floor several feet. Cadash rushed to go help her, and suddenly they were blocked by a wall of stone, cutting them off from retreat, and leaving Valta behind.

Boulders strewn around them moved of their own accord, rolling toward the center as the veins connecting the “heart” to the rest of the cavern shattered. Varric stumbled as one hit him in the back of the knee, leaving him hopping to regain his balance. The lyrium-and-stone creature roared. “Oh _shit_.”

 

* * *

 

If you asked Cadash later how they'd survived the battle with the massive... whatever it was... Varric compared it to a “rock wraith,” something he'd encountered many years ago when he'd traveled to the Deep Roads with his brother Bartrand... she wouldn't have an answer. They'd found weak points somehow and had hacked away at them as the creature attempted to crush them like ants underfoot.

Valta had not been involved in the pitched battle, and yet she'd somehow come out the worst of all of them. Once the guardian was destroyed, the wall blocking them had crumbled, and Cadash had rushed back to her, relieved to find her alive, at least.

“Valta, are you hurt?”

The woman was writhing on the floor, holding her head. The pain in Cadash's own skull still pounded, but she'd learned to endure it, somehow. Valta, apparently, had not.

“Too loud... the song... _stop_!!”

A sudden shock wave emanated from Valta and left Cadash and her companions all flat on their asses. Magic? It was _impossible_. Cadash got back to her feet and suddenly realized she could no longer hear the pounding. It was _gone_. She nearly wept with relief. Valta stood as well and grinned to herself, pleased with whatever had shifted within her.

“I am... it's alright. I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... it was an accident. But everything will be fine.”

“What happened?”

Valta smiled again, but Cadash didn't trust her apparent satisfaction.

“I am in control now. I would never harm you, Inquisitor. I... I feel fine! Good, even!”

“The song, though. You said it was hurting you. It's... it's gone now?”

Valta tilted her head at Cadash, as though she misunderstood the question. “It was chaos, like the rhythm I followed here, but too loud. But yes, it's gone now. Good guess, Inquisitor.”

It wasn't a guess, but Cadash wasn't about to tell her that. She distrusted Valta more than ever, now, backing away slightly. “The tremors should stop now, they _will_ stop now. I think.. I think we should leave.”

“Leave? I feel better than I ever have! Stronger! More alive!”

Cadash shook her head, moving further away from the ecstatic Valta, the woman's apparent glee at all that had happened frightening her in a way she had not been afraid since she'd first fallen out of the Fade. The rhythm of the lyrium heart had been quieted, but her own heartbeat now fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird. Valta seemed almost unaware of her and the others now, pacing around and looking at the interior of the Titan's body in wonder, talking more to herself than to them. “The stone is silent. The rhythm has faded and so have the tremors. The song still echos, it _tells_ me things.”

Cadash kept edging backwards, unaware of what she was even doing, until she nearly trod on Varric's foot behind her. Varric placed a hand on her shoulder and Thom moved beside her as well as they all listened to Valta's continued monologue.

“Your 'breach' – that's what disturbed the titan. It is calm now that it has a connection with one of its children. With _me_.”

Cadash shook her head at the woman's ranting. “You're a child of the Stone, not a child of the Titans. That's what you all say, you're Children of the Stone.” The Titan had not had any interest in her, of course. Or Varric. Only Valta. Cadash felt the threat of tears and pushed the feeling down. Why should she even care? She'd turned her back on all of this long ago. It had rejected her, and she had rejected it.

Valta didn't seem to care either way, of course. “I am not certain what I am, but the Titan recognized me. Like a parent hearing its child's voice.”

“It did something to you. The Titan. _Changed_ you, didn't even ask first. Don't you _care_?”

Valta smiled again, like a woman with a cherished secret. “I am different. But I am still a Shaper. Isana. It's our word for lyrium and we are taught that it is a gift from the Stone. But there's so much more to it than we ever imagined. I was sent to the Deep Roads to recover lost history. This is only the beginning. I am staying here.”

“The Sha Brytol killed Renn. They killed your friend. Don't you care about that? Aren't you afraid?”

“No. I am _Pure_. I can defend myself. I have my stone sense, and now so much more! I'll be safe. The Deep Roads are filled with wonders, answers to questions we haven't thought to ask. Don't worry about me, I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you?”

“The mine's collapse, Renn's death. It all happened to bring me here!”

Cadash suddenly wanted to hit her, again. Renn deserved better than this. Valta deserved better than this, than to be some pet for a long-absent 'parent'. Cadash knew something about absent and uncaring parents – they always let you down, in the end. But there was no use arguing, she could see that much. She just shook her head and began to move away from Valta, back toward the surface, as quickly as they could get there. Valta's voice echoed behind her. “I am called to the Search, Inquisitor, this is where I belong.”

Without turning, Cadash asked one last question, “What do you want me to tell Orzammar?”

“Tell them the truth: _you_ don't know what happened.”

_I know more than you think I do, Shaper. Enjoy your new parent... or whatever it is. I hope it treats you better than mine did._

“Let's get the hell out of here.”

 

* * *

 

It took what felt like days to make their way back through the titan itself and the passageways beyond. Cadash could hardly wrap her head around all that had happened; she only knew that she was deeply angry. Angry at what, exactly, was difficult to pin down. Orzammar, the titan, the Legionnaires, Valta... even Renn, although she knew that was unfair.

She paused at various points and grabbed Varric's pack without bothering to ask, and took the task of sketching their surroundings. She wasn't going to come all the way down here and have nothing to show for it. She was going to tell everyone, Orzammar be damned, the Shaperate be damned, everyone be damned. She knew what happened, and she was going to tell all of it. Let them try to erase it. They could cut out Memories, but they couldn't take away _her_ memory.

She felt a wicked sense of satisfaction as she cut apart one of the dead Sha Brytol they had left in their wake on the way down, disassembling its armor and drawing every piece in detail, and ignoring Varric and Dorian's noises of disgust as she cut into its lyrium-riddled flesh.

She still didn't know what the hell they were, really, but she was going to find out whatever she could. They killed Renn. They tried to kill her friends and her lover. They'd taken out at least a dozen of the Legionnaires. And damned if they wouldn't give up at least some of their secrets in return, if she had any say in the matter.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks. That's all the time that had passed when they returned to the surface. Not even a full month. It had felt like years. She wept openly when they reached the surface, falling to her knees under the salt spray of the Storm Coast. She pushed her hands into the soil, crushing it between her long fingers to inhale its scent.

“Let's go back to Skyhold. Let's go home.”

Fuck Orzammar. Fuck the Deep Roads. She didn't need the Stone or veins of lyrium to tell her who she was. She was Cadash. She was the Herald of Andraste. She was the Inquisitor. She had friends, people who loved her, for the first time in her life. That was good enough.

 

 

 

 


End file.
